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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136029">Leading and Returning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlinkFl0yd/pseuds/BlinkFl0yd'>BlinkFl0yd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Soul Eater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Avatar &amp; Benders Setting, F/M, Family Issues, Red String of Fate, Soulmates, rated mainly for soul's language, travelling hijinks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:00:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25136029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlinkFl0yd/pseuds/BlinkFl0yd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maka travels in search of freedom and adventure – never in one place for too long. Always adrift, just like her wonderful mother.</p><p>When the dirty and sarcastic waterbending boy saves her from a band of thugs, she knows they’re bound together by fate. It’s impossible to miss the red string connecting her heart to his. But why does her soulmate keep looking over his shoulder? What is he hiding from her?</p><p> </p><p>Soul runs in search of love and acceptance – a place to belong. Where people want him for who he is, not money or some stupid family name.</p><p>When he saves the small but fierce earthbending woman from a band of thugs, he doesn’t know they’re bound together by fate. All he knows is that she’s the first person to talk to him in way too long. And that he wants to stay with her. But is fate enough to overcome the shadows of his past?</p><p>(Atla AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this was a collaborative effort for Chibi!verb 2020 with Randome013 (ao3 won't let me add them as a coauthor which I will try to fix asap), they wrote Soul's POV and I wrote Maka's!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a peaceful night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cloudless sky gives a perfect view of the full moon and the trees sway gently with the soft breeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, filling his nose with the smell of lavender and freshly cut grass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul hopes he never smells it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face seems eerie in the dead of the night. With his sharp teeth and blood-red eyes, he looks more like a demon than a lonely teen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But looks can be deceiving. No one knows that better than him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul looks up to the sky. He chose that specific night for a reason. The full moon illuminates the stone path leading to his escape, giving the estate an almost supernatural appearance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moon that enhances his bending.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He focuses on the two guards watching the gate. He narrows his eyes, trying to make out exactly which ones are on shift tonight. Those are… Eyebrows and Baldy. Soul doesn’t know their names – it’s beneath anyone from his family to talk to mere servants – naming them after their most prominent feature instead. He sighs in relief. Both non-benders. This will be easier than expected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He focuses on one of the many pools of water scattered across the estate. The guards don’t see the flying orbs of water until it’s too late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The water encompasses their faces, successfully cutting them off of the so needed oxygen. They started struggling, turning their heads, hitting the water in a desperate attempt to free themselves, reaching for help that won’t come. But he stays unrelenting</span>
  <em>
    <span>. It’s just so they fall unconscious. Just so he can escape. Just until they fall unconscious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their struggles slowly cease, their movements becoming sluggish. Eyebrows turns around, a last desperate effort to free himself from the water. For a second their eyes lock. The fear and desperation in his eyes almost make Soul want to gag. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s necessary. It’s just so they fall unconscious. Just so he can escape. Just until they fall unconscious.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first one collapses. The second soon follows.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, he chose that specific night for a reason. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes another look at the mansion. At the life he is leaving behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tedious lessons. The endless pleasantries. The constant feeling of not belonging.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His parents. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their disappointment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gently touches the bracelet resting on his left arm. The only memento he will be bringing along with him. The only memory worth remembering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a second, he falters. He can still go back. Crawl back into his bed. Pretend he doesn’t hate every second in that damned house. Pretend he hasn’t planned this for weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If they hadn’t moved – if they had stayed in the Northern Water Tribe where they came from, a place where he actually had something like friends – he might have stayed. He might have turned around and gone right back to the place he tried to escape so desperately. Maybe he'd even feel relief, lying comfortably in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But they had. And now he’s all alone in the Earth Kingdom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And why should he stay here? For the maids he doesn't even know the names of? His </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely</span>
  </em>
  <span> tutor? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His gaze focuses on the unguarded gates again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a step forward. Then another. And another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shouldn’t he feel something? Happiness? Sadness? Anything? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he feels is numbness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And another. And another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly he’s at the gates. Freedom mere centimeters away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is his last chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After he steps past the doorway, there will be no coming back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of warm brown eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of whispered conversations lasting late into the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of shared jokes no one but they understand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His grip around the bracelet tightens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, Wes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul takes a step forward. And another. And another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t look back. Not once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night Soul runs away from home is a peaceful one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cloudless sky gives a perfect view of the full moon, illuminating a little silhouette disappearing between the trees.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maka’s earliest memory is being high in the sky, wind stinging against her face and whipping through her hair, her mother’s tight embrace keeping her secure and safe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mother loved to fly. As an airbender, the sky was Kamiko’s domain, her own personal kingdom. It was where she retreated after her marriage disintegrated, leaving her daughter and former husband on the ground below as she took off towards her freedom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maka never resented her for leaving. Not really, anyway. Her mama belonged in the sky, not rooted in place with her unworthy papa. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just wishes that she had the ability to follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been four months since she’s turned eighteen, since she finally got out of her father’s house. Since she embarked on what she thought would be a life-changing adventure. She had imagined meeting new people, making new friends, picking up some kind of trade, maybe. Finding a purpose, a life away from her hometown, and all the bad memories associated there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, she’s sitting in the dirt, back aching from a heavy pack and a cooling flask of tea in her hands. Ginseng, her mother’s favorite. A part of her wanted to get jasmine, her own personal favorite, but she knows it would do nothing but make her more homesick. It would only remind her of Papa’s special brew, the kind he used to make her when she was sick and on cool, winter nights. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid. Maka’s been dreaming of traveling since she was a little girl. Of seeing all the places her mother’s been, seeing in person what Mama only wrote about in her letters. She should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited</span>
  </em>
  <span> about living out her childhood dreams. Not sitting on the ground, missing her hometown.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(She knows exactly why, deep down. She doesn’t seek </span>
  <em>
    <span>freedom </span>
  </em>
  <span>like Mama did, not really. She wants to see the world, sure, but being adrift in the sky is something that scares her, deep down, and it frustrates her. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>should want </span>
  </em>
  <span>the freedom, just like Mama did, because if she doesn’t then that means she’s more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Papa, </span>
  </em>
  <span>spirits forbid, and that scares her.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her tea has long since gone cold. The festival around her has all but wound down, with most of the party-goers long gone. Leaving her alone, sitting cross-legged in the earth with no company except her sad little flask and attendants packing up their stands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing back her frustration, her loneliness, her ever-lingering disappointment in herself, Maka stands, dumps her cold tea into a nearby bush, and gathers her pack.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The towns that line the shores of Lake Lougai are sparse and far between, and Maka enjoys the quiet of the woods around her as she begins the trek back to her inn. It soothes her restless soul, somewhat, losing herself in the soft sounds of nature around her. She’d been too impatient for the meditation practices Mama had tried to teach her, but she felt long walks in nature, with her element below her feet and within her reach, had a similar effect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the quiet, and in the dark of the night, are also when the lines that surround souls and bind them together become much more visible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the dim light, she sees the fingers on her left hand light up in a dim red glow that only she can see. The string-like paths twine around her fingers, and disperse in opposite directions, deep in the forest around her and beyond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’d been very young when she started seeing them. The first line she saw was the one between her parents, attached to their ring fingers and connecting them together. Then were the ones on her own hand, two strings connected to her thumb, one connecting to her Papa’s index finger, and the other connecting to her Mama’s. Then there were others- lines connecting between a married couple that once lived next door, lines between her schoolmates’, their parents. Some people had many threads, others had very few, others barely had any at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mama had taken her to a healer when she had told her about it, a nomad said to have spent a near decade in the Spirit World. He had told Maka that she had a gift. He had said that every soul had pre-determined connections to others, partnerships of all kinds. Some were closer than others. Some would form over time, others were predetermined since birth. Others could end up dissolving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maka’s gift was rare, the nomad had said, a sign that she had been touched by spirits at a young age. How this could be, Maka had no idea, but she had long accepted it. It wasn’t a particularly useful ability, in her opinion. It couldn’t help her bend, or spar, or live. All it did was give her a physical reminder of bonds she could see with her own eyes, allow her to see with her own two eyes as her parents’ bond quite literally frayed and dissolved over time until nothing was left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She herself had a few threads. The ones that connected her to her parents extended far beyond her view in opposite directions, and if she followed them they would no doubt lead her to her father back home and her mother wherever she was, no matter how many miles away. Then there were the threads attached to her pinky finger, the other ends being attached to her friends back home- Tsubaki, Crona, Black Star, people she had known since she was a child. Their threads extended in the same direction as her father’s, all the way back home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She also had a sixth thread, one attached to her ring finger. It too extended far beyond her reach, and for her entire life, she had no idea where it led. Meaning it was like the predetermined connection the nomad had mentioned, which made Maka feel slightly uneasy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maka had never liked the idea of fate meddling in her life, of things being out of her control. She had always looked at the sixth thread with a good amount of wariness. But now, far away from her home and unsure of where else to go, she stared down at the mystery thread and wondered, not for the first time, where it led.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><span>Soul doesn’t regret anything. He doesn’t regret not bringing his warmer coat just because it was a gift</span> <span>from his father. He doesn’t regret not bringing more food. He doesn’t regret not having a bed. And he definitely doesn’t regret leaving Wes behind. His brother. The only family member who ever cared for him. </span></p><p>
  <span>And now he abandoned him. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder his mother barely talks to him. No wonder his father never praised him. Not a single time.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He is a selfish bastard. And the fact that he has no regrets – no, none at all. He definitely has no regrets. Why would he regret running away from a ‘family’ that barely acknowledges his existence? – only prove that once again.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>So why does he feel so… empty? </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He expected giddiness, finally freedom. Or sadness, leaving the mansion behind for good.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Wes. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He has always carried a weight on his shoulders. The weight of being the second child. The weight of being different. Of never being good enough. The black sheep of the family. Always in his brother’s shadows. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And now that this weight was lifted, this weight so heavy it had almost consumed him, all that’s left is emptiness.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He is Soul from the Northern Water Tribe. He hates his family. He loves his brother. As much as he hates to admit it, he seeks his parents' approval.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And now he left all that behind.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And what is left? Who is he if not the sarcastic little afterthought? The shameful little stain in a perfect family?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to the sky as if expecting an answer from the stars, twinkling brightly against the darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But turning around isn’t an option. Not anymore. Hasn’t been since he stepped through those gates, towards a new life, towards freedom. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He expected freedom to feel more… happy. Fulfilling. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>How stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Why would it be any different? Instead of his parents, he has himself to remind him of what a failure he is. Instead of Wes, he… well, he has himself, too. On the rare occasion he’s actually proud of what he did. Instead of a king-sized double bed and three feasts a day, he now has earth, a few canned goods, and one change of clothes.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He has some money, too. But that isn’t going to get him very far in the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The forest. He always liked it here. The smell of pine trees. The endlessness. No beginning and no end. Just the here and now.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Right here and now, he loathes it. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He has been walking for a week now. His little duffel bag is packed with just enough provisions for him to survive the estimated time he needs to finally arrive at the next town. Well, the next town that isn’t an overpriced den filled with rich families. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Rich and spoiled families that all know his own family. And probably already know about his escape, too. They would be more than delighted to return him. Not even for the reward that is undoubtedly set for his head. Just for some juicy gossip. Just for the sake of seeing him getting manhandled by a mere guard.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Going there would be like walking right back to his family’s estate.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach growls, but Soul knows he has to stay strong. The only thing he has left is a can of peaches, and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have to keep walking. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He grumbles in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He isn’t used to this. An uncomfortable and stiff suit? He can wear that all day. But hunger? The one that makes your stomach growl and gives you a bellyache as a constant reminder of its existence? No.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Not for the first time does he consider trying hunting. If he’s lucky, he can catch some poor little animal – maybe a squirrel, he’s been seeing lots of those – and finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> eat some decent food. Feel the tender flesh against his teeth and let the fat drop down his chin and –</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t risk using his drinking water to bend. He never hunted, laid a trap or anything like that before. His food has always been brought to him by the cook. He’d just lose precious time. And he still has his </span>
  <em>
    <span>peaches</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He grimaces in disgust. There is a reason he saved the peaches for last. He hates these gross, slimy and floppy orange... </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wouldn’t even have brought them along if he had another option. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Another impossibly loud grumble makes him hug his aching belly. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he takes a little break, right? </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Another complaint from his stomach hardens his resolve. Soul sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, his needs win over logic. Making a trap can’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard, right?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long he has been waiting. Probably not as long as it feels like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The trap is a simple snare trap – Soul can only hope that it’ll work. He is perched on top of a tree, trying to stay as silent as possible. Ready to throw his knife at whatever has the unfortunate luck to step into the wire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can hear steps coming from his left. He lets his gaze wander towards where the noise is coming from. It – whatever it is – is way bigger than a squirrel. Maybe a deer? Are there even deer in this forest? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s going to be very helpful with killing this awful hunger he feels–</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost falls off the tree when he sees it. It isn’t a deer. It isn’t even an animal. It – or rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> – is way worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s Baldy. Unmistakably. And by the sound of it, he isn’t alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul curses under his breath. Of course they’d send people after him. It wasn’t as if his parents were just going to wave goodbye and wait for him to come back on his own. Which is smart on their part. If even a week of living alone in the forest hasn’t convinced him to go back, nothing will.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They aren’t too close yet. If he gets down this tree right now without them noticing, he can run away, and hopefully the guards will stay here and search near the trap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Happy with his plan – it’s not like he has that many options, really – he carefully makes his way down, doing his best to be as silent as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as his feet touch the ground, he starts running. He may not be able to see his pursuers anymore, but he can hear them. Coming closer and closer. He has to be careful not to step on any branches or -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes widen when his feet suddenly get caught up on... something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul can't completely smother his </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>manly scream of surprise. He looks down, but it’s already too late. His momentum is too strong. He barely has time to curse the stupid root that dared trip him now of all times before he’s falling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lands in a bush. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>loud rustling bush.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul stays there, squashing the bush with his weight, its branches digging uncomfortably into his skin. Great. Fucking great. He can forget his stealth-plan now. Because he tripped on a stupid root. They would catch him and drag him back because</span>
  <em>
    <span> his stupid foot got caught up on a fucking root.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives himself ten seconds to calm down. As soon as the time is over, he gets quiet and strains his ears. Nothing. Just the normal chirping of the birds and the leaves rustling in the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still has a chance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t care about being quiet anymore. All he cares about is getting away. To escape Baldy and Eyebrows and Scar and whoever else was sent after him. All he cares about is running.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands up. He won’t be going back. Not yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s gasping for air, sweat covering his forehead. No doubt his face is bright red.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Run</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His sides are starting to hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he can hear is his panting and his heart, beating way too fast. If because of his running, his fear, or both, he doesn’t know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> Run run run run run.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span> He has to escape. He has to get away. He has to –</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s ripped out of his thoughts by… laughter? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He has to get to a nearby town.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There. Again. A shrill and high-pitched sound that would’ve hurt his ears in any other situation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now it feels like the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laughter. Which means </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which means a town. Which means hiding places.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul speeds up. He didn’t think it was possible, but the prospect of a town with actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> fills him with new energy. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it turns out to be a trick of his mind. He chuckles to himself. That would be it. Finally achieving freedom only to go crazy after one week and be caged again. This time in a loony bin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But no. He can clearly hear it. The music. The laughter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>People.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know why these people are out there at this hour, but he wants to thank whatever deity is listening for it. Disappearing in the masses just got a whole lot easier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And – almost more important – people also means</span>
  <em>
    <span> food</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To hell with his canned peaches, he will enter the next restaurant and stuff himself until he can’t walk straight. He couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled out of his lips if he tried. And – new clothes. Oh yes, does he ever need new clothes. A warmer coat, definitely. And a shirt that doesn’t smell like he hasn’t changed it in a week. Which is the case. But the rest of the world doesn’t need to know that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can see the lights now, too. Illuminating the wide roofs and the wooden houses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seems to be a festival of sorts. Lampions everywhere, making it almost seem as if it was daytime. A band in the middle of a square, surrounded by a dancing and roaring crowd. People laughing. People dancing. People talking. People everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s weird. Normally he hates crowds. But this feels… somehow different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowds mean safety. Crowds mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Crowds mean singing and laughing and running and freedom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, best of all, he doesn’t stand out. Just another weird-looking and smelly kid carrying a knapsack while running as if there was no tomorrow. Saw a group of those just five minutes ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any lingering worries he might have completely disappear when the most heavenly smell invades his nostrils. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Food! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Actual</span>
  <em>
    <span> food!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just there, up ahead! He almost cries in elation when he sees a stall selling </span>
  <em>
    <span>real meat</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He buys a five-flavor soup and squeezes himself onto one of the emptier benches in the back, placing his bag safely beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This is why he ran.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No forced smiles. No boring pleasantries. Just genuine laughter and jokes and hugging and this feeling. This feeling of careless happiness. This atmosphere of uncaring bliss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches a group of kids, running and screaming and laughing. No parents commanding them to stop. Telling them they are an embarrassment.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yeah. This is what freedom feels like.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He unashamedly eats like a pig. The soup is dripping down his chin and he inhales the food with such vigor his neighbors look away in disgust. But he doesn’t care. He wishes he could see his parents’ faces if they saw him eating like this. He snorts at the mere thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do you want to do against it? Lock me in my room? Take away my breakfast? Good luck with that.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to stay there forever, sitting on an uncomfortable bench, surrounded by pure and genuine </span>
  <em>
    <span>happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he knows he has to get up. Get some new clothes. And – he sighs in content at the mere thought – </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleep in a real bed again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He turns around to get his bag. He isn’t sure if it’s okay to just leave the cutlery on the table but, right now, he couldn’t care –</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>… shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He replays the last few moments in his mind. He arrived at the town. He bought his soup. He placed his bag beside him, sat down, and ate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So why is the place beside him empty?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns around. Looks under the table, under the bench, even under his plate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bitter laugh leaves his mouth. Of course. Of fucking course. The first party he’s actually enjoying and he gets robbed. He hopes that the thief enjoys his canned peaches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul sighs. He can also say goodbye to his bed now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he got to enjoy an actual meal before getting mugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the festival doesn’t seem as happy anymore. He is getting a headache from all the loud screaming. The cold breeze does nothing to wipe away the stench of fat in the air. Sweating bodies everywhere, getting uncomfortably close. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is nothing here for him. Without his money, all he can do is stare in longing at all the things he can’t buy. He clenches his fists in frustration. He should’ve looked after his bag. Fucking stupid. This is a freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>festival</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is there any better place to rob some uncaring idiots? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the atmosphere, the people. For the first time in what feels like forever, he felt… at peace. As if he actually belonged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs bitterly. Maybe that’s just his fate. Being alone. Wandering around in isolation, not belonging anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back to the forest, leaving the laughter, the band, the lampions, and that damned thief behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hard to believe he’d been literally running towards the town not even two hours prior. Dreaming of food and new clothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks down to his loose brown pants - they would fall off if he hadn’t tied them with a rope he’d decided to pack last minute - which ends on a dark green tunic that is too tight on his shoulders. It doesn’t fit perfectly, but he doesn’t have many options when taking some clothes from a random clothesline as inconspicuously as possible. He hopes against all odds that they belonged to the thief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, here he is again. No food. No money. No idea what to do or where to go next. Just great.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fiddles with his bracelet. The only thing left from his old life. He probably would be able to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> money out of it if he sold it, but he doesn’t have the heart to do it. He remembers a story his grandma used to tell them. About people who hold each other dear being connected by red strings. Right now, the bracelet is the only connection between him and Wes. Like his very own red string. The least he can do is take care of it. He owes it to his brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first rays of sunshine appear over the treetops, basking everything in a warm, golden light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul can feel the exhaustion tugging at him, weighing his eyelids down and making his head throb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is alone. He has no provisions. He is being chased down by his family. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has no idea what to do next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he does what any sane person would do in this situation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He searches for a hidden spot – this little secluded space between two large trees would have to do it – and lays down. With a bit of luck, the guards will assume he’s in the town and won’t even glance his way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All Soul knows is that he’s too tired for – well, anything – right now. At least he can use his old shirt as a pillow now. Turns out he got everything he wanted out of the town, huh. A cheap soup, some stolen clothes and a bed of dirt. What could one want more?</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maka knows she’s being followed before they even make their move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The village near her inn is haphazardly landscaped, buildings built in place without rhyme or reason. She likes to think that she has a good sense of direction, which is what she relies on when she first noticed the pair of eyes following her. She decides to let them follow, and makes her way through a series of twists and turns that she thinks would lead her back into the village square, into public view for all to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s her first mistake, and she realizes it the second she’s boxed in by the back of a stone stable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You lost, sweetheart?” Comes the voice behind her, and she shudders when she practically tastes the leer in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s far past the middle of the night, everyone else in this sleepy little village is long asleep. Asides from the full moon and stars above her, she’s alone.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her only response is to whip around and send a rock flying straight at the thug’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Judging by the yelp, he hadn’t expected that, and he’s knocked off his feet. She’s about to launch herself up onto the roof to make her escape when a second thug, one she hadn’t noticed before, leaps over his fallen comrade and throws himself straight at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She moves into stance on autopilot, already preparing to let him get a blow in. That would let his guard down, if only slightly, and give her the perfect opening she needs to land another rock right into his sorry skull-</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That’s her second mistake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s expecting a punch, a kick, something. She deflects his first strike, which comes forward with more precision than she saw coming. The blow that does land is a pointed, precise strike straight and hard into the hollow of her shoulder. The nerve within flares in pain for a split second, and suddenly, she can’t feel her entire arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To say the sensation stuns her is an understatement. She’s never felt anything like it. The shock completely breaks her sense of concentration, allowing her attacker to land another hit straight into the crux of her hip. Before she knows it, it feels as though her leg is gone, she’s lost her balance, and she’s pinned down hard against the dirt. The sound of him laughing is ringing through her ears, and she registers with a cold, horrifying sense of finality, a blade being held over her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mind dimly registers that she should continue to fight. Scream. Something. She still has two limbs left, she still has the means to struggle. But there’s panic clouding over her mind, freezing her brain in its place, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>she can’t feel her arm </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there’s a weight of a grown man pinning her to the ground</span>
  <em>
    <span>-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What happens next is a blur- literally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From her perspective, all she can see is the man pinning her down, but then there’s a flash of green, a grunt, a pained yelp, and suddenly the weight of the man is gone and she’s free. Pure instinct drives her to roll away, propping herself up on her good arm to face the scene that’s occurring before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s another man, clad in Earth Kingdom green and with a shock of white hair, that’s struggling to pin down her attacker. And failing, incidentally, because the thug manages to get him off easily and deliver an open-palm slam against her rescuer’s throat. The choking sound the white-haired man lets out is audible from across the clearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes a second for Maka to process all that, however, because there’s something else that catches her attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dangling off the white-haired man’s finger is a familiar red string that trails down onto the ground, and snakes all the way to her own hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her sixth thread.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The realization is a complete shock to her system, and it’s only the sound of her attacker pinning the white-haired man to the ground and the gleam of a knife under the dim moonlight that she’s spurred back into the reality that her rescuer is about to be gutted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can still feel the earth underneath her with her good limbs, and the sheer panic of knowing that she’s about to watch somebody get hurt is enough to break her out of her panicked daze. Her hand curls into a fist, hardening the dirt around her fingers, and without really thinking she lobs it as hard as she can in the direction of her attacker’s head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With only one arm, her aim isn’t as precise as it could be, and the blow lands on her attacker’s side instead of his head like she intended. Still, it’s enough to completely knock him off the white-haired man, who immediately crawls backward and reaches for a waterskin she hadn’t noticed until then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In an instant, a stream of water is circling around him in an arc, then flung at her attacker. By the time the white-haired man has stumbled to his feet and towards her side, her attacker is sealed to the side of a building and cursing up a storm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A waterbender, she realizes with a jolt as she’s helped to sit up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Her rescuer asks, sounding somewhat panicked. He’s more of a boy really, now that she has a closer look on him, a boy her age with startling red eyes that bore down at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t feel my leg,” she gasps in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, here, lean on me-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She complies as he helps her to her feet and slings an arm over his shoulders. His frame is narrow, but her grip on her is strong. The red glow of their strings connecting them together, a glow that only she can see, is all the more visible thanks to their proximity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She really, really hopes he can’t feel how fast her heart is beating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the other one?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-the other one?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There were two thugs, weren’t there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh- I have no idea, I launched him over a wall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She practically can hear him blink. “...Oh. Uh. Nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re called chi blockers,” he tells her as she’s preparing a pot of jasmine. “They go after certain nerves in your body to paralyze you. Or just take away your bending. You’re lucky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that?” Maka asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve just heard of them,” he says, somewhat stiffly, and doesn’t elaborate any more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like the polite thing to do to treat your rescuer to tea. The fact that they’re possibly-your-soulmate notwithstanding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her arm and leg still tingle painfully, but she manages to pour him a cup without much issue. Thankfully, the paralyzing sensation has long worn off since he got her back to her room. He mumbles his thanks, eyes not quite meeting hers as he picks up the cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His name is Soul, apparently. He has sharp teeth, messy hair, and he’s dragging dirt into her room and all over the carpet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s a waterbender in Earth Kingdom colors, and at first, Maka assumes he’s from a mixed family, like someone from the Water Tribe settling somewhere in the Earth Kingdom and marrying someone there. But upon closer inspection, she notices that his garments are very ill-fitting like they weren’t made for him. They’re also worn, ragged, and like they haven’t been washed in a while. He himself looks like he hasn’t been washed in a while, or like he’s eaten in the past few days. The bloody lip he seemed sustained from the earlier fight doesn’t help his bedraggled appearance. The perfect picture of a runaway, some kind of vagabond. The kind of person Papa warned her about before she left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Were the string not there, she would probably have not allowed him into the space where she’s living at the moment. But curiosity is a lethal thing, and she wants to see where this goes. That, and she does owe him- she can still feel the lingering echo of a sensation of that man’s weight on her, and she shudders to think about what could have happened had Soul not entered the picture when he had. The least she can do for him is provide some tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe offer a bath. Spirits know he needs it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” she begins, clasping her hands in front of her. “Soul.” His name tastes a little awkward on her tongue. “Where are you from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he looks even more uncomfortable than before. “Uh. I’ve just...been traveling.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is not at all what she asked. “Where did you travel from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He visibly swallows. “Well, I came in here through the Lower Ring. Been across the entire city before I came here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She resists the urge to slap her forehead. “Where are you from? Where were you born? Why are you traveling? That’s what I mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul huffs out a sigh. “Look, I’d rather not...I don’t really want to get into it. It’s kind of a long story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that’s when she finally realizes he’s uncomfortable with that line of questioning. Oops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she mumbles, somewhat embarrassed for pressing, because it’s really none of her business if he has some nasty things in his background going on, soulmate line or not. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he mumbles back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Awkward silence ensues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen,” she begins, trying not to sound as fumbling as she feels. Spirits, why does she feel so unbalanced around him? Actually, she knows why, and she really needs to stop thinking about the damn string and get her head on straight- she shouldn’t feel this off-kilter around a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She has more dignity than this, surely. “I really want to thank you again. I had no idea what those thugs-” and she shudders at the memory. “-were planning, and there’s a good chance you might have saved my life. Is there anything I can do for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Soul shifts, giving her a somewhat lopsided smile. “I couldn’t just leave you, could I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks, because vagabond or not, he has a really endearing smile. Wait, no-</span>
  <em>
    <span> focus Maka, focus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Still. I can’t just let you go off without feeling like I’ve properly thanked you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to do anything, honest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “All right, would you mind if I be blunt for a second?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks. “Um, sure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been living on the streets, haven’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And just like that, he immediately goes tense. “I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s obvious. No offense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He visibly flinches, and she immediately feels bad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying! If you need help, I’m offering.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are?” Soul asks, sounding skeptical.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles. “Yeah, I am. I know it’s none of my business, but- well, think of it this way: I owe you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s silent for a moment, and there’s a brief second where Maka’s wondering if she should regret asking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re right,” Soul says, finally. “I- I haven’t been in the best...position. Lately.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still sounds hesitant. Well, Maka’s not going to have any of that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shifts a bit closer to him, and he gives a start at the motion as she smiles at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me help,” she says.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s morning, and Maka’s managed to drag him into town to get him a meal and a change of clothes- he’d protested, somewhat, but actually getting food into him had shut that up, just like she’d known it would have. Honestly, she’s not sure how much she has to tell him that she owes him, he rescued her, before he actually listens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything you can sell?” Maka asks. “You need money.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I know,” Soul says. “And no, I don’t have anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is about what she thought- from what she can tell, the only things he has with him are the clothes on his back, a barren pocketbook, and a beaded bracelet that winds around his wrist. She just figured she should ask, just in case he wasn’t hiding some valuable stone in his pockets for whatever reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure there’s some odd jobs around here that you could do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” He asks, skeptically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, how do you think I’ve been making ends meet? We can stop by Madame Ling’s store- she does card readings on the other side of town- I cleaned out an old barn for her, and she gave me enough to get through the next few days. She knows a lot of people around, I’m sure she could point us in the right direction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if that would work,” Soul replied, looking somewhat sheepish. “I, uh- don’t really know how to do that sort of thing. And I don’t know how long I can stay here, anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hm. “Well, let’s ask anyway. You never know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure,”  Soul said, and the doubt was practically seeping from his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll all work out,” she assured him, brightly, because for spirits sake, he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>negative</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It wasn’t like she considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span> a beacon of positivity, but he could stand to be a little more hopeful. It sounded a lot like he was on the verge of giving up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a lot she didn’t know about him. Now that she wasn’t running off of post-attack adrenaline, and had a bit more sleep under a belt, doubts were starting to creep in. The red string that connected them wasn’t as bright as it was at night, but it was still there, and she was starting to feel a little nervous looking at it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, she never liked the idea of fate interfering with her life. But the lines that connected her with Black Star, with Crona, with Tsubaki, were all ties she had decided to take a chance on, and that had resulted in her having friends she considered absolutely irreplaceable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The idea of taking the same chance on Soul doesn’t seem like such a wild idea, when she thinks about them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides- she knows from experience that curiosity didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> kill the cat owl, unlike how the saying went. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just most of the time, </span>
  </em>
  <span>whispers a small voice in the back of her head, which she tried to ignore despite the pit of anxiety forming at the bottom of her stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets his gaze wander over her for the umpteenth time. Her ash-blonde hair tied in two pigtails – somehow the youthful hairdo doesn’t look childish at all on her. Her incredibly green eyes that seem to stare right into his soul. Her small and slim body, hiding a surprising amount of strength. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Conversation over tea had been slow and filled with awkward silences. It thankfully improved during their walk in the city – if this hellhole can even be called that. Though that didn’t stop him from cursing his inability to socialize the entire time. All those pleasantry lessons had been a complete waste of time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grimaces at the memory of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>lovely </span>
  </em>
  <span>teacher, a wrinkled old woman so thin he could almost see her bones. But the most outstanding thing about her is her voice – so shrill it’s almost painful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Banshee. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s what he and Wes secretly called her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He misses Wes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not just Wes. He misses human contact in general. He misses someone to rely on. Someone he can trust with his life. Someone he can talk with about everything and nothing. Someone to joke around with. Someone… someone to be his friend.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soul?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums in acknowledgment. He doesn’t know why – maybe he’s craving human contact after a month of living alone in the woods or maybe it has something to do with these mesmerizing green eyes of hers – but he feels… drawn to her. Maka. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up to the sky. The sun is going down, tinting the sky in a beautiful shade of orange. He can’t believe he only met her a few hours ago, shortly before dawn. It feels like so much longer. The day is coming to an end, but he doesn’t want to leave. And he somehow gets the feeling that she doesn’t want to, either.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it with the bracelet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only now does he notice that he’s gripping it like a lifeline. While everything else is wrinkled and dirty, the armband looks almost as well kept as when he received it. He lets go of it as if being caught doing something forbidden. His arms are now awkwardly hanging on the air. He wishes his pants had pockets, only to have something to do with his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It-it’s a gift. From my brother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t even scratch the surface of what that bracelet means to him. Of what it has become. His talisman. His lighthouse. Every time he loses hope, every time he is laying on the cold floor, stomach growling, and body aching, he looks at his armband. He remembers his old life. He remembers his parents’ expressions every time they looked at him. He remembers why the bracelet was the only thing worth taking from a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mansion</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and suddenly his current predicament doesn’t seem too bad anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Other times he remembers his brother’s smile and his aching heart – full of longing and regret – makes any other pain fade in comparison.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question slips past his lips without his consent. An idea is forming in his head. Has been ever since she invited him for tea all those hours ago. An idea the old Soul – the one that lived in the mansion and always had a comfortable bed to sleep on – would never dare to go through with. Daydream about what could’ve been, at most.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the old Soul hasn’t left, completely at the mercy of his parents. The old Soul doesn’t know how it feels to be completely alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m traveling. I… don’t want to be stuck in a place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t comment on the fact that she seems to be trying to convince herself. It’s none of his business.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just… traveling around, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is no reason to stick together. She wants to stay in movement, never stay in one place for too long. He wants to find a new family and stick with it, one that acknowledges and maybe even loves him. She will continue traveling. He will, too. They’ll probably never see each other again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is no reason for them to stick together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he wants to. Spirits, does he want to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a crazy idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s better than being alone, nobody but the ghosts of his past to keep him company. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maka…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s looking straight at him now, with those mesmerizing eyes of hers. The words get stuck in his throat. He’s so stupid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How could he ever hope to stay together with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He is a rich runaway. He has been pampered his whole life. He would be nothing but a burden to this girl who clearly knows what she’s doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it, Soul?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… she doesn’t seem to want to leave either, right? And she has to be pretty lonely if instead of thanking him and leaving like any other person would, she insisted on having tea with him (if that liquid she served him could be called that). It couldn’t hurt to ask, right? The worst that could happen was that she refused. And they probably wouldn’t see each other again if that happens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can see the scene play out in his mind. He will open his mouth and say that he wants to travel with her. It isn’t that hard. He can do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do -- ?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But…does he really deserve it? He’s a thief. He has never been good with people – a month in the forest only worsened his social skills. He never appreciated the money while living at the estate. He abandoned his brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wes. He can almost see his smiling face in his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want you to be happy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes another calming breath. He has to let go. He may have left the estate, but he’s starting to realize that the estate hasn't left him. That maybe, he needs help to finally be able to let go. How does that saying go again? You can take the spoiled brat out of his dysfunctional family, but you can’t take the dysfunctional family out of the spoiled brat. Or something like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is his parents' disappointed frown. Every time he tries something new, he imagines how they would react. They are always there. Always on his mind, no matter if on the back or the front. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What would they do? What would they say?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What good is it to run away if his ghosts follow wherever he goes?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And somehow he can’t shake the feeling that Maka could help with that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He never believed in fate, but he’s starting to think their meeting wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe she could help him. Maybe she could become his new family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you –“ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raises a brow at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t do it. Not with her looking at him like that. With those green eyes of hers that seem to strip him from any confidence he may have. Instead, he stares at the shabby little stalls behind her as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do – do you –”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want to travel together? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Six simple words. Why is he making everything so difficult for himself–?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops dead in his tracks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must’ve seen wrong. This can’t be happening. Not now that he’s almost starting to believe in fate. He hasn’t seen them in over a week. He only stayed in hellholes like this one, where no one dares to look the other in the eye. Where he is just another stinking homeless. Where he is just another desperate thief. Just another face in the crowd. He’s always on guard. Always looking behind his back. Always staying as low as possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soul?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what is Eyebrows doing here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soul!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glares at her and motions for her to be quiet. Thankfully, she complies. Not without giving him one of the most terrifying glares he ever had the misfortune to receive, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul looks up again. Were there that many people before? He lets his gaze wander through the masses, but the guard is nowhere in sight. Maybe he just imagined it after all. Paranoia. Maybe even wishful thinking – it would be nice to know that his parents want him back. That they </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But… He almost forgets how to breathe. That guy over there. With the broad shoulders, face not visible under his cloak. He looks like… Baldy. No. He is being paranoid. After one month on the run, the insanity finally caught up to him. But what are the chances of seeing two people who look exactly like his guards? He lets his gaze sweep through the crowd in front of him. Again. And again. And again. But the longer he looks, the more guards he sees. That slightly smaller guy on the left could be Scar. And doesn’t that huge guy next to him look an awful lot like Moustache? And that could be Tiny, the small man who just went around the – </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A blinding pain on his stomach successfully distracts him from his search.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ouch! What the heck, Maka?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he can do is stare as she retracts her fist. He can’t believe it. She punched him. In the gut. With full force. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soul suddenly becomes awfully aware of the rocky ground they’re standing on. They are surrounded by her element. He gulps and – in what he hoped is an inconspicuous manner – opens the bottle containing his bending water (he started carrying one after the hunting incident, cursing himself for not having the idea sooner). He isn’t sure why she is so aggressive all of a sudden, but he won’t go down without a fight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s obviously something you aren’t telling me. So spill. Are you a criminal? Is there a prize on your head?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s glaring at him, standing in what he recognized to be an earthbending move. He almost drops the cap in surprise. Does she really think that… now that he thinks of it, she isn’t actually wrong. The guards </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> probably get a raise if they return him. And his journey so far hasn’t been 100% legal either. He can feel his face heating up in embarrassment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only when she moves – bending a very painful-looking rock out of the floor – does he realize he should probably answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm… I may have stolen a loaf of bread. Or two. Or twenty. And these clothes may technically not belong to me either. Or the ones before these. But I donated my last ones – this has to count for something! And –“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn't follow you to another town if you were just a simple thief.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bends another rock to emphasize her seriousness. Maka doesn’t voice her threat out loud, but it’s clear as day what will happen if he doesn’t answer her questions. And soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glances nervously at the little crowd forming around them – her bending is attracting attention. They want a fight. The bloodier the better. Something to distract them from their dull daily routine. And if it catches the attention of one of the guards…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, Maka. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Just… not here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scrutinizes him with a calculating gaze. He can’t remember the last time he felt so tense. If she decides not to trust him – which would be completely reasonable, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t trust a homeless weirdo with a persecution complex – everything would have been in vain. They would drag him back to the estate and he knows he won’t be able to escape a second time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She isn’t looking at him, glaring at the space between them instead. She sighs before raising her head and looking him in the eyes, just daring him to make her regret her decision.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go to my room.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He looks nervously at the blonde woman before him.</p><p> </p><p> It feels… weirdly refreshing to have finally said it out loud. As if a weight has been lifted off his chest.</p><p> </p><p> He’s a bit surprised by himself he didn’t just invent something or run away as fast as he could. But he had been so sick of carrying everything inside him, the memories and dark thoughts dominating his mind and weighing him down. </p><p> </p><p>And when she looked at him with those eyes of hers… he couldn’t <em> not </em> be honest with her. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe his granny’s stories about soulmates are true, after all. Maybe fate or destiny or whatever power that made them meet really is out there, mingling with people’s lives. Starting relationships and ending them. Making the right people be at the right place at the right time. Because even Soul – who never believed in all this superstitious bullshit – can’t deny the connection he feels to Maka. A girl he’s barely known for a day. A girl he just told his life story.</p><p> </p><p> Well, he hasn’t told her <em> everything </em> – he isn’t ready to unpack it all quite yet. But he told her almost everything. How he came from a wealthy merchant family from the Northern Water Tribe. How alone he was when they moved to the Earth Kingdom. Just his parents, his brother, and some nameless maids and guards. How he spent every damned day inside these four walls, only leaving if they were invited for a <em> party </em> - how he hated these suffocating gatherings. How <em> miserable </em> he felt there. How he’s scared to become like <em> them. </em></p><p> </p><p>The anger. The fear. The silence. </p><p> </p><p>Until everything became too much. Until his only option was to flee. </p><p> </p><p>It’s the most he’s ever told anyone.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, who would he talk with there? Himself? His pillows?</p><p> </p><p> He still can’t believe he’s only known her for a few hours. It feels like so much longer.</p><p> </p><p> He isn’t sure what to expect. Maybe for her to take his parents as an example and refuse to look him in the eye. Or for her to hand him over for money.</p><p> </p><p> What he doesn’t expect is for her to hug him.</p><p> </p><p> He slowly wraps his arms around her petite torso. She ends it way too early. The earthbender jumps away, screaming about how they have to leave in ten minutes and how she doesn’t have money to stay any longer or pay any fees.</p><p> </p><p> If Maka wasn’t turning her back to him, she would see the sad smile adorning his face.</p><p> </p><p> Maka. The fierce earthbender that made him smile more in a day than he did in a whole month. The girl he thought – even if just for a moment – could become his companion. No, more than that. His friend. His family. The reason he left.</p><p> </p><p> But he knows he can’t do it. He still isn’t sure if the guards were just a fruit of his imagination, but he can’t risk it. He can’t force her to live like a fugitive – always on the run, always looking behind her back, always scared, always hiding. Not Maka, whose aura practically demands attention. Not her, whose attitude screams confidence and courage.</p><p> </p><p> “Soul?”</p><p> </p><p> The boy is so lost in thought he doesn’t even realize she already finished packing. She’s looking at him, gripping her bag so hard her knuckles are white. She’s… nervous about something.</p><p> </p><p> She’s about to leave.</p><p> </p><p> And then he’ll be all alone again. Only the stars and that stupid bracelet to keep him company.</p><p> </p><p> He curses his family. He curses the guard. His life, his situation, the stupid forest, the even stupider people. His parents, the stars, even Wes. The whole fucking world. Why? Why does he always lose everything? What did he ever do that was so bad everything – every<em> one </em>he cares about leaves him behind?</p><p> </p><p> Fuck Baldy. Fuck Scar. Fuck Eyebrows. Fuck his parents. Fuck the mansion. Fuck Wes. Fuck –</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to travel together?” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maka finds the Ba Sing Se monorail system fascinating, both the history behind it’s creation and the means from which it was invented, all of which is something she explains to Soul as they hop on it. Soul looks utterly disinterested in her explanations, though, so she reluctantly drops it and moves onto what is admittedly a more pressing matter- their travel plans.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” she begins, unrolling the map so that Soul can see. “Our first order of business is to get the heck out of here, and hopefully find a way to get your family’s men off of our trails.”</p><p> </p><p>“Agreed,” Soul responds without hesitation. “How are we going to do that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, we should be able to get out of Ba Sing Se within a couple of days. After that…” she hesitates, because really, she’s not really sure what they’re going to do next. “Well, I’d say we focus on putting as much distance from your family as possible.”</p><p> </p><p>Soul gives her a look that indicates that he probably knows that she hasn’t figured that part out yet. Which rankles. “Right. Any other ideas?”</p><p> </p><p>Maka huffs, irritated. “Well, you can start by wearing this up-” And with that, she grabs the hood of his cloak, and yanks it over his head, ignoring his protesting yelps. “You’re a noticeable person, no offense. They’re probably on the lookout for someone of your description, and the fewer people take notice of your features, the better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Soul mutters, glaring at her from underneath his hood, his hair mussed and looking positively disgruntled. It makes her feel a little better. “I mean, where are we going once we get out of Ba Sing Se?”</p><p> </p><p>Maka hesitates. Once they get out of Ba Sing Se, they’ll be in the northern area of the Earth Kingdom. Which, incidentally, is in the direction of where Soul’s family is stationed. </p><p> </p><p>He visibly stiffens when she points this out to him on the map, so she’s quick to reassure him that they’ll be heading south. </p><p> </p><p>“Omashu,” she suggests, somewhat at random, but the more she thinks about it she figures it would be a safe bet. “It’s a large city, meaning we might be able to blend in more easily.”</p><p> </p><p>Soul nods, slowly, thinking. “That could work...yeah. Yeah, that works.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then that’s where we’ll go.” Maka folds up the map, places it neatly back in her knapsack. “It’ll be a bit of a long trek on foot, but we should be discreet as possible. We don’t want to use public transportation too often, or we’ll have to give out our names.”</p><p> </p><p>Soul doesn’t respond. He’s staring at her, with a funny expression Maka can’t quite discern.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>He huffs, a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “Nothing. It’s just...I can’t believe my luck, I guess. You’re a freaking miracle, you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>Maka blinks, taken aback. She...has no idea how to respond to that? How is she supposed to respond to that?</p><p> </p><p>“I mean-” Soul’s face goes red. “That was weird, I’m sorry. It’s just- you’re the help I needed. I don’t think I would have lasted very long, without you. I don’t mean that your general existence is a miracle- well- I mean, maybe I do, at least in this moment-”</p><p> </p><p>From there, he trails off into some incoherent mumbling, and Maka thinks she hears him mumble <em> please kill me now, </em> but she isn’t sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” she responds, somewhat awkwardly, feeling her own face heat up. Oh god, <em> how is she supposed to respond to that?! </em> “Thanks. You’re uh. Pretty cool yourself.”</p><p> </p><p><em> What are you saying </em> the coherent part of her brain shrieks at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Soul mumbles, and she doesn’t know about him, but she feels way too off-keel and embarrassed to even respond further.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s a testament to how lonely she’s been lately that having someone to actually talk to while she’s on the move actually feels strange at first, because she’s so not used to it.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a nice change overall, she has to admit.</p><p> </p><p>Soul needs her, desperately. He has no idea how to build a proper campfire, no idea how to discern which berries are poisonous- something she learns the hard way.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you said goosefoot was edible,” Soul had whined when he had finally come out from under the effects of the henbane he had ingested, after a few hours of raving and talking to imaginary animals that only he could see.</p><p> </p><p>“That wasn’t goosefoot,” she had told him in response, somewhat shortly, because she had spent the last several hours trying to prevent him from running off in search of <em> Mister Fluffypants </em>. “That was henbane.”</p><p> </p><p>“That was <em> what?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Goosefoot is edible and can be used in salads. Henbane is a toxic hallucinogenic. They do look similar, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Shit.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her thoughts exactly. “Don’t do that again!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not like I tried to eat a poisonous plant-- ow-- ! Don’t whack me, you’re going to tear the map-- !”</p><p> </p><p>How he hadn’t died in the woods before they had met, Maka had no idea. Maybe she shouldn’t have expected much more from a rich merchant boy who spent most of his life in a manor. </p><p> </p><p>Her and Soul are different people. That much is clear within the first few days of being on the road together. She has no idea what it’s like to be a part of a noble family, and he has no idea what it’s like to grow up in a small little village that’s mostly off the map. </p><p> </p><p> Soul never has any idea what she’s talking about when she talks about literature, but unlike Black Star he actually listens to her when she’s talking about her favorite poems or her collection of scrolls back home, asks her questions when she goes into what she loves about her favorite characters and the plots of the stories she’s been collecting on her travels so far. And likewise, she never has any idea what he’s talking about when he tells her about the music he likes, the songs and the rhythms he likes, but she listens too and sometimes he plays some short tunes on the flute for her.</p><p> </p><p>It’s nice, when he does. She’s never really cared for music one way or the other (hearing some of her father’s drinking songs were enough to put her off music for a lifetime), but the soft sounds of Soul’s little wooden flute becomes soothing quickly. On warm nights when they’re sleeping outside around a fire, it becomes routine for her to fall asleep to the sound of Soul’s tunes, her head just close to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>Once, just before she drifted off to sleep, she thought she might have felt a hand brush a stray strand of hair out of her eyes, but the thought alone makes something in her stomach flutter in a funny way so she tries not to think about it too much.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“We’re going the wrong way.”</p><p> </p><p>“No we are <em> not.” </em></p><p> </p><p>From behind her, she can hear Soul throw his hands in the air in the way he usually does when she’s, quote on quote, being <em>difficult</em>. Well, it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter that he’s been arguing that they’re going the wrong way for the past half-hour, because Maka is <em> right </em> dammit.</p><p> </p><p>After a small amount of time has passed, she hears him again. “Maka, <em> we’re going the wrong way-” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We’re not!” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“We should have spotted the town by now! There’s no way we’re going the right way!”</p><p> </p><p>“How would you know?! You haven’t been here before!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but at this point, I think I know how to read a map!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, are you saying I don’t?!”</p><p> </p><p>Soul opens his mouth, then abruptly shuts it under her glare.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, can we try going the other way?” He pleads. “Then you would at least be able to tell me that I was wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>“I already know you’re wrong,” Maka snaps. “I know how to read a map!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being unreasonable!”</p><p> </p><p>“I am being <em> completely </em> reasonable!”</p><p> </p><p>Maka hears Soul swear under his breath. <em> “Fine! </em>We’ll go this way, get even more lost, and then we’ll starve to death! And maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally see that I was right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah, you’re <em> totally </em> being reasonable right now,” Maka mutters irritably. </p><p> </p><p>Was she completely certain at this point that the town they were looking to stop at was in this direction? Not particularly, but like hell she was going to admit it at this point. </p><p> </p><p>Please be the right direction, please be the right direction-</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t. An hour later, Soul finally gives up, turned on his heel, and headed in the opposite direction. Maka had ran after him, yelling, but he had ignored her.</p><p> </p><p>Two hours later, they found the village.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t say it,” Maka grumbles over her noodles- the first food she had managed to get a hold of in the past few hours, which may have played a part in causing her earlier bad mood.</p><p> </p><p>Soul just smirks at her through his mouthful of noodles. “I don’t think I need to.”</p><p> </p><p>Maka smacks him hard on the arm, and Soul just snickers even harder, much to her annoyance.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Mama was an Air Nomad.”</p><p> </p><p>They’re lying under the stars, and the campfire is slowly beginning to burn out. There’s a slight chill in the air, and somehow, without her realizing it, she’s drifted fairly close to Soul’s side. </p><p> </p><p>“She met Papa during her travels. It’s not usually part of her culture to settle down unless it’s at a temple, but she did it anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your old man didn’t deserve her.” Soul’s voice feels close, but since her head is right near his shoulder, that’s probably a given. “From what you’ve told me, anyway. Just saying.”</p><p> </p><p>“He didn’t,” she agrees. “She...she always told me, that you can’t always let tradition dictate what you’re allowed to do. That it’s better to let go, if there’s something tethering you down. Freedom is something Air Nomads treasure more than anything. The only thing anyone really has is their own sense of self. Everything else...you have to be able to let go.”</p><p> </p><p>Soul is silent at that. And she can’t help but stare down at the threads on her hands, glowing with a light no one else but her can see. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s why I left, you know,” she says. “There’s...I don’t know, a lot of things that happened in my house that I’d rather forget. I used to want nothing more than to get out when I was younger.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you not now?” Soul asks.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know, she almost says.</p><p> </p><p>“I miss home,” she admits. “I miss my village, the friends I had there. But...travelling is something I need to do. I’m not an Air Nomad, but I think I still need to let go of some tethers. Does that make sense?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think so,” Soul replies. “I have to say, though, you seem like you know your sense of self pretty damn well. And I don’t think having tethers is a bad thing, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“You have to be able to let go,” Maka says, echoing the words Mama had told her just before she left.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but- if it’s having a family, having a home to go back to, that’s not a bad thing right?”</p><p> </p><p>The wistful tone in his voice is what stops her short, and it hits her like a sack of bricks that he’s probably thinking of his own family. The people who let him down, the fact that he’s been driven out of his home.</p><p> </p><p>She feels awful for a number of reasons- some that she can’t quite pin down.</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all,” Maka says, quickly. “I mean- maybe for some people.”</p><p> </p><p>“For some people?”</p><p> </p><p>The tone in his voice makes her feel defensive. “It didn’t work out for my mama, did it?” </p><p> </p><p>Another pause.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess not,” Soul finally says, and for some reason, that makes her feel worse.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He’s gripping his bracelet, barely noticing his nails digging into his skin.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t understand her. As far as she told him, she had everything. A father that would do everything for her. Friends in her age enjoy her company as much as she does. A cozy little house, one that seemed to actually be a home instead of a cold museum. Freedom to go wherever she wants. No duties. No boring events filled with unbelievable annoying brats.</p><p> </p><p>A family that loves her.</p><p> </p><p>But again, he thinks as he diverts his eyes from hers and stares out at the stars instead, the same could be said for him. More money that he could spend in a lifetime. The best education. The best food. The best clothes. The best of everything. Parties, money, everything he could desire.</p><p> </p><p>Was it weird to feel bad for not feeling bad?</p><p> </p><p>No. That place wasn’t his home. The mansion, filled with the golden ornaments and ridiculously large rooms, never made him feel wanted. Or safe. Or enough. Right now, sitting on the ground, the breeze flowing through his hair, the endless sky above him, and the low flickering flames before him, he feels more at home than he ever did <em> there </em>.</p><p> </p><p>And, of course, there’s Maka. He deviates his gaze from the sky and looks at her instead. Her body is pressed up against his, probably because of the growing cold. She’s looking up, seemingly lost in thought. Unknowingly to him, a small smile grazes his lips. Somehow he gets the feeling that even the estate would be less awful with her around. Even if just a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me about your brother”</p><p> </p><p>He almost jumps when she suddenly breaks their silence, needing a second to process the question.</p><p> </p><p>“Wes?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods.</p><p> </p><p>His gaze is pulled towards his bracelet, as always on his left wrist. Wes… He thinks back to his brother, with his warm eyes and even warmer smiles. The brother who was always there for him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wes. He - He’s kind. And understanding. And… and warm. He would sneak into my room in the middle of the night when I was having a bad day. Or just to have a sleepover. He always stood up to me. He was – </p><p> </p><p>The brother he barely thought of since he started travelling with Maka.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly the lightness he’d been feeling ever since they met is gone, replaced by the crushing weight of guilt. Wes did so much for him – staying up until late into the night to listen to his childish problems, taking the blame for something that Soul did, and so <em> so </em>much more – and how does he repay him?</p><p> </p><p>He feels tears threatening to fall, but he does his best to hold them back.</p><p> </p><p>“He seems like he’s a great guy.”</p><p> </p><p>Soul swallows the lump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he is.”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t look away from the armband. The longer he stares, the more memories invade his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Him and Wes playing pranks on the servants. Him and Wes laughing about the stupid aristocrats. Him and Wes enduring the endless events together. Him and Wes. Wes.</p><p> </p><p>The memories are bittersweet. Each one is a pang to his heart, as if someone took it and is squeezing it with all his might. But at the same time he can’t contain his smile when he thinks back to them. Back to him.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not the mansion that was his home. It’s not the cold, marble floor and even colder people who made him stay for so long. It’s Wes. <em> Wes </em>was his home.</p><p> </p><p>He never said goodbye to his brother, did he? He’d wanted to at least write him a letter – explain <em> why </em>, how he wasn’t at fault, how he loved him, why he just couldn’t stay anymore. All he managed was a pathetic ‘Sorry’.</p><p> </p><p>He lifts his arm towards the dark sky. Wes still <em> is </em> home. In a way. He finally looks to his companion. As if sensing his eyes, she looks back at him and smiles. Before he can think too much about it, he takes her hand in his. He raises his gaze again. His smile widens when she squeezes it. Is it only his imagination or are the stars twinkling brighter than before?</p><p> </p><p><em> Yeah, </em> he thinks as he squeezes back, <em> this is what home feels like. </em></p><p> </p><p>The realization hits him like a bucket of cold water.</p><p> </p><p><em> She </em>is his home now. Maka the earthbender, the girl he encountered in a dark alley by chance, has become his home.</p><p> </p><p>He knows he’ll never forget Wes. He was always there for him. No matter how silly his problem or how busy his schedule, he always found time for him. He was the one who made his life in the mansion bearable. He was the one who always defended him, always cared for him, always loved him.</p><p> </p><p>But he isn’t his only home anymore. And although he knows Maka isn’t the same as Wes – he doubts she would take the blame for something he did – he knows that she is his home now, too. His home in this new life he chose.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to be her home, too.  </p><p> </p><p>"Here.”  </p><p> </p><p>For a moment all she can do is stare.</p><p> </p><p>“Take it.”</p><p> </p><p>Only when he starts waving it in front of her face does she finally move.</p><p> </p><p>“But… but this is your <em> bracelet. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>It almost feels like a slap to the face when she says it out loud. It’s somehow… surreal. He’s about to give away the last piece of his old home. Just like that.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s not completely true, is it? Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a reminder of home and became a leash instead, binding him to his old life. The life he is trying to run away from. The life he is leaving behind, hopefully for good.</p><p> </p><p>So he does it. As much as he doesn’t want to – as much as a part to him clings to it, the little child begging for his parents attention, as much as his arm feels naked without it, as much as he’s overwhelmed with the irrational fear he’ll lose his brother, forget his face and voice until it’s as if the one person who cared for him in that damned house never existed, as much as it <em> hurts </em>to separate from this bracelet that has been his lifeline for over a month – he knows he has to let go. He has to move on.</p><p> </p><p>“I want you to have it.”</p><p> </p><p>She stares at him, irritated. He knows she hates it when she doesn’t understand something. But that’s okay. They came from completely different places: her from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere and him from a huge house with riches she can’t even imagine. Just like she doesn’t understand why he is doing this – why he <em> has </em>to do this –, he doesn’t understand why she left her family behind. And he probably never will.  </p><p> </p><p>He’s entirely unprepared for the wave of emotions that hit him when she finally takes it. The bracelet not touching his skin for the first time in forever. It’s as if all those feeling that had been missing when he ran are hitting him now. As if they were just waiting for him to finally let go. For him to finally be <em> free </em>, nothing weighing him down. A new beginning, just like he wanted it.</p><p> </p><p>Fear. Guilt.</p><p> </p><p>Relief. Hope. </p><p> </p><p>For a moment, he almost thinks he has to cry. Which is entirely stupid. It’s just an inanimate object. But when he finally looks up – looks into those stunning green eyes, filled with bravery and disbelief and something that makes him feel all warm inside – he can’t help but smile.</p><p> </p><p>Because Maka Albarn gave him something he didn’t know he had been missing.</p><p> </p><p>Courage. Warm and beautiful. Filling a void he didn’t even know had been empty.</p><p> </p><p>The courage to finally let go and really step towards his new life. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Soul leaving feels sudden, and it leaves Maka reeling.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to settle things,” Is what he says as they’re waiting for the train.</p><p> </p><p>“With who? Your brother?” She asks.</p><p> </p><p>She hopes she sounds supportive. Because she <em> is </em> supportive, she wants him to be happy more than anything. If this is something he feels he has to do to be happy, then she’s 100 percent supportive of it.</p><p> </p><p>But. <em> But- </em></p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” His eyes flicker downwards, away from her. Guilty. “I just...left. Without saying a word. If I’m going to leave, if I’m going to live my life the way I want to, I need to be able to send off my old one properly.”</p><p> </p><p>“You need to reconnect with Wes,” Maka says, softly, because really, that’s what’s pulling him back. She knows by now how Wes means the world to Soul, how much Soul has missed him. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Soul says, quietly, eyes finally meeting hers. “I want to leave my old life behind, but I don’t want to lose him in the process. It’s like- growing up with him is a part of why I am the way I am. It’s a piece that I can’t just abandon.” He looks at her somewhat pointedly as he speaks, and it’s hard to pretend that he’s not, or ignore it. “Does that make sense?”</p><p> </p><p>It does.</p><p> </p><p>He waves to her as the train pulls away, with him on it, pulling him away from her. She waves back, smiling as though she’s not fully aware she’s going to be alone again.</p><p> </p><p>Left in her own thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>She sits in the village square of the town where they had separated, watching the people mill about her. It’s funny, how life just...goes on. How there are a million strangers in the world, each with their own crises and problems. How when you’re just standing in the middle of them, it feels like your own issues don’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things.</p><p> </p><p><em> You’re being ridiculous, </em> whispers a voice in the back of her head, one that sounds all-too similar to Mama’s. <em> Mooning over some boy. </em></p><p> </p><p>Except...she’s not mooning. Not really. </p><p> </p><p>She misses Soul’s presence, sure. She’s learned how much she loves travelling with someone, especially someone she cares about. She doesn’t want to think how she’ll be waking up alone tomorrow, how she’ll just go back to having anyone to talk to as she goes about her daily business. Acquaintances she meets in different towns and leaves behind soon after don’t count.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know if she can take it anymore.</p><p> </p><p> <em> (“I have to say, though, you seem like you know your sense of self pretty damn well. And I don’t think having tethers is a bad thing, really.”) </em></p><p> </p><p> <em> (“I want you to have this.”) </em></p><p> </p><p>The bracelet is clasped tight and secure on her wrist. It’s a promise, she knows, that they’ll see each other again.</p><p> </p><p>In the dim evening light, lit only by the lights of the shops and lanterns around her, The strings on her hand are starting to glow. All six of them extend in different directions, and it feels different, now, that she now knows where they all lead.</p><p> </p><p>All away from her.</p><p> </p><p>She stands, adjusts her knapsack on her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p><em> Sorry Mama, </em> she thinks as she takes the first steps on her trek back home. <em> Fate has decreed it- my tethers are a part of me. </em></p><p> </p><p>And, for once, she was going to trust fate completely on that.</p><p> </p><p>She’d see Soul again. She couldn’t imagine a world where she wouldn’t. But for now, it was time for her to go back to the <em> other </em> people who kept her grounded.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Her homecoming is received with about as much commotion as she expected. Black Star is the first to see her, and as such is the first person to tackle her into a hug. Tsubaki is a bit more restrained, but Maka is somewhat startled when she hugs her just as tight, and when Crona hugs her even tighter. </p><p> </p><p>And then there’s Papa, who practically squeezes the life out of her and cries with joy into her shoulder- meaning he still hasn’t quite grasped the concept of having dignity.</p><p> </p><p>Maka doesn’t mind it, very much.</p><p> </p><p>It’s easy, settling back into village life. She doesn’t stay long in her childhood home- there’s too many memories, good and bad and conflicting, and she feels stifled there. She gets a job at Ms. Yumi’s library, a place she’s frequented since she was very young, and lives in the spare room above. She has dinner with Papa on weekends, goes out with her friends in the evenings, makes plans with them to take a trip to Ba Sing Se someday- she has no interest in travelling alone, anymore.</p><p> </p><p>She feels so much lighter than she has in a long time.</p><p> </p><p>It’s funny- that she feels less tied down, after everything. She finally feels free- maybe it’s because she’s not at all like her Mama, and maybe it’s because she’s more like her Papa. That’s not quite something she feels completely at peace with, but maybe someday she will be.</p><p> </p><p>There’s something missing, though.</p><p> </p><p>Well, two things. But she’s long accepted that Mama isn’t coming home for a long time, and doesn’t think there’s much that can change that.</p><p> </p><p>No, her mind is on her sixth thread.</p><p> </p><p>She writes. And writes again. There’s no response.</p><p> </p><p>Winter comes, finally, then goes. Spring passes, then summer.</p><p> </p><p>Maka’s not entirely sure what she’s waiting for- a response to her letter, most likely. But she’s worried, by the time the leaves start turning color again- that maybe Soul got hurt. Maybe he ran afoul of some trouble on the road. Maybe something happened. </p><p> </p><p>But her sixth thread looks intact, and glows with just as much life as ever, so her fears are appeased. Somewhat.</p><p> </p><p>She’s taken to twisting Soul’s bracelet around her wrist-- an anxious habit that somehow irritates Ms. Yumi just as much as nail-biting and hair-twisting.</p><p> </p><p>“Makes me nervous just looking at you,” she says, watching Maka as she carefully evens out the scrolls on the shelves.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Maka mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>“I have to drop these off at Frank’s,” Ms. Yumi goes on, placing the scrolls in her basket. “You’ll hold down the fort until I get back?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, Azusa,” Maka says.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” Ms. Yumi leaves briskly, as she always does, and Maka can hear the front door open, her voice trailing out from the other room. “Oh- good evening.”</p><p> </p><p>Someone just entered, then, Maka knows, wiping the dust off her hands as she heads towards the front desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening,” she begins.</p><p> </p><p>Then stops in her tracks. </p><p> </p><p>Her thread has shortened considerably, shortened to the man standing in front of her. He’s had a haircut, and is wearing somewhat nicer clothes than what she’s used to, and he’s looking at her with that lopsided, somewhat shy grin that she’s <em> missed so much. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Your village was a pain in the ass to find,” Soul says. “You didn’t tell me it was so tucked away.”</p><p> </p><p>Maka stands there in shock. Her brain feels like it’s short circuiting a little, the concepts of Soul and here not quite connecting just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Soul’s grin falters. “I- I’m sorry I was so late. I wasn’t at the estate, Mom and Dad had gone back up to live with our relatives the Northern Water Tribe, and then there was the whole fallout with them, and then Wes wanted me to stick around for a little longer- I had no idea you had even written to me until we stopped by at the estate, and I tried writing to you- did you get my letters-”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Maka says, sharply, cutting him off and running straight over to tackle him into one of the fiercest hugs she’s ever given in her life. </p><p> </p><p>She hears Soul grunt in surprise, feels him stumble, but he doesn’t hesitate on returning the embrace. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t get any of the letters, but none of that matters now.” Her words are muffled into his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>His only response is to hug her tighter, and just like that, the leftover pieces slot into place and finally, <em> finally, </em> everything is perfect.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few notes-</p><p>We kinda played fast and loose with the Avatar timeline/setting, so don't try to meaningfully apply the events of this story to the show in any logical fashion? It takes place completely separate from the show, is what I'm saying.</p><p>Also, fun fact- the plant that Soul got high on cactus-juice style, henbane, is a real plant! According to Wikipedia, some British chef did in fact mistake it for goosefoot (which is also a real plant, and is more commonly known as wild spinach) and recommended it as a tasty addition to salads. The magazine where this recommendation was published has to quickly issue a redaction correcting the error before anyone poisoned themselves, and the chef admitted to getting the plants mixed up. Idk, I thought it was funny. </p><p>Thank you for reading! Make sure to check out Mystery-Shrouded's bracelet and poem at this link: https://mystery-shrouded.tumblr.com/post/623015034144030721/leading-and-returning-welcome-to-my-entry-for#notes</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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